I F***ing Do! Part 28
Title:
Team Name: The Fwooping Order of the Aberforthing Phoenix
Word Count: 11x100
Rating: R for language
Challenge: creative cursing
Characters: Hermione, Severus, Dennis Creevey, Toby Snape, Aberforth Dumbledore, Fluffy
Authors Notes: Whew! This one almost didn't get finished due to RL complications. Huge thanks to all the Harpies for assistance above and beyond the call of Harpihood, including entire drabbles contributed by Camillo, Duniazade, Scoffy and Bluey. This one was truly a group effort and I am feeling so privileged to have been allowed to work with such a wonderfully creative, supportive, and inspiring group of co-writers. Apologies to all our readers for the delay in this, the final (?) installment of our story.
Previous Chapter
“How long does it take to hand over a bloody Portkey?” Severus never had been good at queuing.
“Just think what’s not on the other end of the queue,” his new wife suggested. “No embarrassing relatives.”
His scowl lessened. “No plotting, little, bowtruckle-brained house-elves.”
“No haranguing, red-headed harridans.”
“No sodding, scuffling schoolteachers; grungy, gangrenous Goblins; or cursed, cock-flaunting Centaurs.”
Hermione smirked; she’d suspected Firenze’s unexpectedly generous endowment bothered Severus. “No fwooping shit-soaked dresses.”
At that, Severus’ slowly growing grin became a leer. “No clothes at all. Just you and me, fucking like rabid Nifflers on sand whiter than Albus’ arse.”
…
“As soon as we get there, husband mine, I’m taking you to our private beach and stripping you naked.”
“You might want to consider eating first, my delectable nymphet. Once I’ve got your clothes off, you aren’t getting dressed again.”
“Agreed. Food first, then naked beach sex. Did you bring the sand-repelling ointment?”
“In my pocket. I’m not taking any chances on it getting lost along with our luggage. Not one grain of that fine, white grit will be stuck to your lovely bum when I ...”
The line chose that moment to shuffle the newlyweds to the ticket counter.
…
“Snape. Two Portkeys to Tanzania,” Hermione said to the ticketing agent.
Severus grabbed the slip of paper. “When does it activate?”
The agent did a fair imitation of Severus’ own sneer. “Problem, Professor? Lost the ability to read in your old age?” He pointed at the glowing red letters suspended above him.
In the time it took Severus to recognize that the agent was none other than Dennis Creevey and that the lad seemed to be enjoying himself a tad too much, Hermione read, “All non-essential travel to Africa has been cancelled until further notice.”
“Fucking Anansi’s arsehole! What now?”
…
“What my husband is trying to ask, in his inimitably tactful way, is why is all African travel cancelled?”
“Hullo, Hermione! Two British teachers were murdered this morning in Somalia,” a very cheerful Creevey replied.
“But Somalia’s on the other side of the fwooping continent! Or were you unaware that Africa is, in fact, larger than Surrey?” Disdain dripped from Severus’ every word.
“There’s only the one International Portkey station in Africa, and -”
“You are enjoying this, you pusillanimous -”
“Severus!” Hermione hissed, pulling him aside. “Do. Not. Antagonize the man who stands between us and our bloody beach.”
…
Patting his wife’s hand, Severus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of accommodation. Precisely how do you define ‘essential’?”
“Will you be providing medical or law-enforcement services? No. That means this office and the entire continent of Africa consider you, Severus Snape, non-essential. In fact, not only are you useless, you are the awfulest, beastliest, cackiest, duffest, evilest, foulest, germiest, hideousest, ignoblest, jobbiest, knarliest, loathesomest, mingiest, naffest, obnoxiousest, pottiest, quislingest, rudest, slimiest, tetchiest, ugliest, vilest, worst, excruciatingest, yuckiest, zombiest person in the whole world,” Dennis chanted with a cheeky grin.
…
“How long have you been practicing that speech?” Hermione asked.
“Colin and I worked it up back when Snape was Headmaster; took us weeks to get it right. Never thought I’d have a chance to use it, but when I saw you were coming through here, I traded away two holidays to get this shift. Congratulations on your wedding, and all. Do you mind if I get a picture? I want to remember this forever.”
Ten minutes of marital discord later, a snarling Snape posed with a cheerfully exultant Creevey.
“Now that we’re all friends, you’ll arrange our Portkeys?”
“Can’t.”
…
It took two Repello Charms to get Severus’ hands off of Dennis Creevey’s throat.
“You know this is all your fault.”
“Excuse me? You’re the ruddy genius who wanted to go to Outer Bumfuck, Africa.”
“Where we’d be shagging already if you hadn’t insisted we spend three soul-suckingly boring days sitting around with our thumbs up our arses.”
“I suppose you’d rather we just left the gifts? Let the sodding Malfoys’ Feendish Booke of Fyre and Frightes start a little bonfire in our bedroom? Come home to find the baby yeti Hagrid gave us chewing its way through your library?”
…
They were discussing the things they could do with the enchanted meat cleaver Molly had given them when they reached the front of the queue.
“I can exchange those for a visit to a goat farm in Jamaica,” the bored-looking witch at the desk suggested.
Severus choked.
“Any other choices?” asked Hermione.
“The Bulgarian centaur reserve.”
Hermione restrained the hyperventilating Severus’ wand arm.
“Is that it?”
“Bed and breakfast in a castle in Scotland. Five stars - managed by goblins, fully serviced by elves.”
“By Prospero’s pustulant prick, I’m going to...”
The rest was mercifully lost as Hermione dragged him away.
…
“We could just go home,” Hermione suggested.
“Home? Is it too fucking much to have the one fucking thing I fucking wanted from this entire fucking fiasco not be fucked to fuckville?”
“Home does have its advantages. No embarrassing relatives.”
One eyebrow twitched into a slightly higher position. “No plotting, little, bowtruckle-brained house-elves.”
“No haranguing, red-headed harridans.” She grinned.
“No sodding, scuffling schoolteachers; grungy, gangrenous Goblins; or cursed, cock-flaunting Centaurs.”
“No fwooping shit-soaked dresses.”
A half-smirk with a fully-quirked eyebrow graced his once-snarling features. “No clothes at all. Just you and me, fucking like rabid Nifflers in our own bed.”
…
"What matters is that we're married," Hermione said, stretching to kiss her husband’s cheek.
"And about to shag each other senseless," Severus agreed as he lifted her up, ready to carry his bride across the threshold. "Welcome home, Mrs. Snape."
Hermione reached down to open the door. "Somebody got past the wards!" she hissed as her hand touched the doorknob. Putting his bride down, Severus drew his wand and cautiously opened the door.
“Neptune's nutsack, you’ve got a real stonker there! Go easy, Toby. I haven’t bottomed since you were in nappies.”
“Holy Jeebus, Forthy! Yer tighter’n a long-haired Corsican!”
…
“How dare that scrofulous shit use our house as a bloody knocking shop?” Severus raged.
“Your dad or Abeforth?” enquired Hermione.
“Either! Both! Not a word from you, Miss He’s-Your-Father-How-Can-You-Be-So-Cruel.”
“Just one?”
“What?”
“I think you'll find it's ‘Mrs.’ now. As in, Mrs. Castrate-Your-Father-And-Roast-His-Goolies’.”
Severus smiled. “You have three seconds to get out before I set my wife on you!” he shouted, as he opened the door.
The crack of multiple Disapparitions was followed by a brief silence, before:
“Ahoy, you mangy fuck-monkeys!” croaked Fluffy.
Team Name: The Fwooping Order of the Aberforthing Phoenix
Word Count: 11x100
Rating: R for language
Challenge: creative cursing
Characters: Hermione, Severus, Dennis Creevey, Toby Snape, Aberforth Dumbledore, Fluffy
Authors Notes: Whew! This one almost didn't get finished due to RL complications. Huge thanks to all the Harpies for assistance above and beyond the call of Harpihood, including entire drabbles contributed by Camillo, Duniazade, Scoffy and Bluey. This one was truly a group effort and I am feeling so privileged to have been allowed to work with such a wonderfully creative, supportive, and inspiring group of co-writers. Apologies to all our readers for the delay in this, the final (?) installment of our story.
Previous Chapter
“How long does it take to hand over a bloody Portkey?” Severus never had been good at queuing.
“Just think what’s not on the other end of the queue,” his new wife suggested. “No embarrassing relatives.”
His scowl lessened. “No plotting, little, bowtruckle-brained house-elves.”
“No haranguing, red-headed harridans.”
“No sodding, scuffling schoolteachers; grungy, gangrenous Goblins; or cursed, cock-flaunting Centaurs.”
Hermione smirked; she’d suspected Firenze’s unexpectedly generous endowment bothered Severus. “No fwooping shit-soaked dresses.”
At that, Severus’ slowly growing grin became a leer. “No clothes at all. Just you and me, fucking like rabid Nifflers on sand whiter than Albus’ arse.”
…
“As soon as we get there, husband mine, I’m taking you to our private beach and stripping you naked.”
“You might want to consider eating first, my delectable nymphet. Once I’ve got your clothes off, you aren’t getting dressed again.”
“Agreed. Food first, then naked beach sex. Did you bring the sand-repelling ointment?”
“In my pocket. I’m not taking any chances on it getting lost along with our luggage. Not one grain of that fine, white grit will be stuck to your lovely bum when I ...”
The line chose that moment to shuffle the newlyweds to the ticket counter.
…
“Snape. Two Portkeys to Tanzania,” Hermione said to the ticketing agent.
Severus grabbed the slip of paper. “When does it activate?”
The agent did a fair imitation of Severus’ own sneer. “Problem, Professor? Lost the ability to read in your old age?” He pointed at the glowing red letters suspended above him.
In the time it took Severus to recognize that the agent was none other than Dennis Creevey and that the lad seemed to be enjoying himself a tad too much, Hermione read, “All non-essential travel to Africa has been cancelled until further notice.”
“Fucking Anansi’s arsehole! What now?”
…
“What my husband is trying to ask, in his inimitably tactful way, is why is all African travel cancelled?”
“Hullo, Hermione! Two British teachers were murdered this morning in Somalia,” a very cheerful Creevey replied.
“But Somalia’s on the other side of the fwooping continent! Or were you unaware that Africa is, in fact, larger than Surrey?” Disdain dripped from Severus’ every word.
“There’s only the one International Portkey station in Africa, and -”
“You are enjoying this, you pusillanimous -”
“Severus!” Hermione hissed, pulling him aside. “Do. Not. Antagonize the man who stands between us and our bloody beach.”
…
Patting his wife’s hand, Severus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of accommodation. Precisely how do you define ‘essential’?”
“Will you be providing medical or law-enforcement services? No. That means this office and the entire continent of Africa consider you, Severus Snape, non-essential. In fact, not only are you useless, you are the awfulest, beastliest, cackiest, duffest, evilest, foulest, germiest, hideousest, ignoblest, jobbiest, knarliest, loathesomest, mingiest, naffest, obnoxiousest, pottiest, quislingest, rudest, slimiest, tetchiest, ugliest, vilest, worst, excruciatingest, yuckiest, zombiest person in the whole world,” Dennis chanted with a cheeky grin.
…
“How long have you been practicing that speech?” Hermione asked.
“Colin and I worked it up back when Snape was Headmaster; took us weeks to get it right. Never thought I’d have a chance to use it, but when I saw you were coming through here, I traded away two holidays to get this shift. Congratulations on your wedding, and all. Do you mind if I get a picture? I want to remember this forever.”
Ten minutes of marital discord later, a snarling Snape posed with a cheerfully exultant Creevey.
“Now that we’re all friends, you’ll arrange our Portkeys?”
“Can’t.”
…
It took two Repello Charms to get Severus’ hands off of Dennis Creevey’s throat.
“You know this is all your fault.”
“Excuse me? You’re the ruddy genius who wanted to go to Outer Bumfuck, Africa.”
“Where we’d be shagging already if you hadn’t insisted we spend three soul-suckingly boring days sitting around with our thumbs up our arses.”
“I suppose you’d rather we just left the gifts? Let the sodding Malfoys’ Feendish Booke of Fyre and Frightes start a little bonfire in our bedroom? Come home to find the baby yeti Hagrid gave us chewing its way through your library?”
…
They were discussing the things they could do with the enchanted meat cleaver Molly had given them when they reached the front of the queue.
“I can exchange those for a visit to a goat farm in Jamaica,” the bored-looking witch at the desk suggested.
Severus choked.
“Any other choices?” asked Hermione.
“The Bulgarian centaur reserve.”
Hermione restrained the hyperventilating Severus’ wand arm.
“Is that it?”
“Bed and breakfast in a castle in Scotland. Five stars - managed by goblins, fully serviced by elves.”
“By Prospero’s pustulant prick, I’m going to...”
The rest was mercifully lost as Hermione dragged him away.
…
“We could just go home,” Hermione suggested.
“Home? Is it too fucking much to have the one fucking thing I fucking wanted from this entire fucking fiasco not be fucked to fuckville?”
“Home does have its advantages. No embarrassing relatives.”
One eyebrow twitched into a slightly higher position. “No plotting, little, bowtruckle-brained house-elves.”
“No haranguing, red-headed harridans.” She grinned.
“No sodding, scuffling schoolteachers; grungy, gangrenous Goblins; or cursed, cock-flaunting Centaurs.”
“No fwooping shit-soaked dresses.”
A half-smirk with a fully-quirked eyebrow graced his once-snarling features. “No clothes at all. Just you and me, fucking like rabid Nifflers in our own bed.”
…
"What matters is that we're married," Hermione said, stretching to kiss her husband’s cheek.
"And about to shag each other senseless," Severus agreed as he lifted her up, ready to carry his bride across the threshold. "Welcome home, Mrs. Snape."
Hermione reached down to open the door. "Somebody got past the wards!" she hissed as her hand touched the doorknob. Putting his bride down, Severus drew his wand and cautiously opened the door.
“Neptune's nutsack, you’ve got a real stonker there! Go easy, Toby. I haven’t bottomed since you were in nappies.”
“Holy Jeebus, Forthy! Yer tighter’n a long-haired Corsican!”
…
“How dare that scrofulous shit use our house as a bloody knocking shop?” Severus raged.
“Your dad or Abeforth?” enquired Hermione.
“Either! Both! Not a word from you, Miss He’s-Your-Father-How-Can-You-Be-So-Cruel.”
“Just one?”
“What?”
“I think you'll find it's ‘Mrs.’ now. As in, Mrs. Castrate-Your-Father-And-Roast-His-Goolies’.”
Severus smiled. “You have three seconds to get out before I set my wife on you!” he shouted, as he opened the door.
The crack of multiple Disapparitions was followed by a brief silence, before:
“Ahoy, you mangy fuck-monkeys!” croaked Fluffy.